


Tango in Asstown

by Edible_Panties



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Loads of Smuppets, M/M, Meteorstuck, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Platonic Cuddling, Smuppets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edible_Panties/pseuds/Edible_Panties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a palemate is not so much as a series of actions than an experience, and between near penetration by phallic-esque sex puppets, mispronouncing the word 'moirail' and learning a thing or two about troll anatomy, you're finally beginning to realise that you, Dave Strider, are the most hilarious person on the meteor. Well, that, and what it means to be a real moirail. That's important too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tango in Asstown

**Author's Note:**

> I am so up in Dave's shit that I'm basically wearing him as a suit.

So you suppose that there had always been an inevitability that you and Karkat would stumble ass over tits into the alien equivalent of the ultimate bromance, but nothing could quite prepare you for the mountain of colourful smuppet rumps bundled together in what was perhaps the most tightly packed heap of sexual plush dolls you had ever had the misfortune to look upon. Even Bro in all of his eccentricities hadn't ever achieved such perfect smutty puppet packing, and you had a feeling that should he have ever witnessed such consummated skill in ass clumping, he would have had to shed a tear or two behind his rad shades and applaud. Each vibrant hunk of plush stares down at you with ass-eyes befitting of a naked renaissance, and you find yourself wondering where Karkat had found the time or the energy or indeed the patience to alchemize so many puppet posteriors.

Karkat stands next to his mountain masterpiece, all nibble and nubs, with his arms packed against his chest tighter than his underwear, as if squirrelling away to build a smuppet empire was a completely sane, rational thing to do. You briefly speculate if the three years squatting on the meteor had finally driven his brain to mush. 

“Since we've both made it abundantly clear that we have no intentions of starting a concupiscent relationship with each other in the time we've been forced to associate, I've taken it upon myself to finally rid this forsaken rock of your incessant whining about how the lesbians – whatever the fuck lesbians are – are having all the fun. With this in mind, I've decided to further our conciliatory acquaintance and drag you up from the wretched dregs you seem to have slumped into like some sad, fucked up grub.” He puffs out his chest, and you can literally feel the opportunity to escape the encroaching whatever this was slip away like sand. “So sit your ass down on the pile and shut the fuck up, Strider, because you're about to experience a feelings jam.”

It takes you a moment to fully understand the slew pouring crassly from his face, but you respond in quick succession. “What, like in those unironically lame movies you made me watch?” 

Karkat points at you, his finger jabbing at your chest. You don't bother swatting him away. “Exactly like those treasured classics we watched on your own accord,” he grouses. He whirls around and gestures wildly to the pile. “I chose the elements of human culture that seem most familiar to you, so you better appreciate the lengths I went to build this thing. My eyes are now permanently scarred with the image of constant alchemized failures. Do you have any idea how many deformed rumps I had to sift through until they bore some semblance to the creepy pail puppets your human lusus showered you in as a grub? A fucking lot! I was bulge deep in hybridised, vaguely human shaped rectums for days before I finally dredged up something that looked remotely like the colourful creatures you humans seemed fascinated with.”

It certainly brings back memories, you decide as you reach down to take a green, phallic-nosed smuppet between your fingers. It hangs limply, staring up at you with both it's ass and it's eyes. “This is a monorail thing, right?” you say, and he bristles at the mispronunciation. “You want us to swan dive into the throes of platonic passion, snuggle the fuck up like a double fingered Kitkat and paw at each other until either one or both of us breaks down into a slop of emotional hubbub, 'cause I am all up for that shit. Spiritual bromates, solebros, I got'choo, babe, let's do this.” You drop the smuppet and wipe your hand on your shirt.

“Well la-di-fucking-da, you seem to have mastered the art of the pale quadrant. Bully for you. Let me strap on my fucking pointy hat and we'll have a human cocktail party,” Karkat snaps, throwing up his arms. It only takes a swift step to the side to avoid flailing limbs, and you mentally congratulate yourself for being such a cool guy. “I'll just pack up my feelings pile and throw it into the nether, 'cause you know all about moirallegiance. You're so aware how much being a moirail is so _not_ all about being in an epic bromance and that it involves the mutual exchange of problems and feels. Glad we got that sorted out!” He turns back towards you and snarls, but it lacks the venom he liked to think he was known for. “Why don't you give your rodent wheeling thinkpan a vacation day and sit your pustulous dirt road down on this human equivalent of troll fetish porn and snuggle with me, because if you're going to take a huge shit on my culture with strange variations of the word 'moirail' then we might as be comfortable so I can fully understand how you could quintessentially fuck up a simple concept.”

You flatten your palms against his cheeks and smush them until he has fish lips. “Can't blame you for wanting a piece of this hot bod. All the alien boys swoon for a slice of Strider derriere. I can't even cross a road without some honey all up in my shit, drooling at my Chucks and fondling at my britches.” You release his face and turn your back to the magnificently terrifying pile, stretching your arms out all Titanic style. “Yo, do you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“What, they don't have troll Titanic? I'm flying, Jack.” He squawks his confusion, and he can't see you close your eyes all melodramatic and shit behind your shades as you fall back to be embraced by a plethora of glorious plush rumps. You're absorbed by the multicoloured rears, and between the overwhelming softness, you can feel a few unwanted noses digging stiffly into your side and your back. One is dangerously close to your own sumptuous behind, poking at your left cheek like a frat on a first date, but you take it in stride and open your arms expectantly. “Jump on this monorail, bro, 'cause you're about to be the first aboard the fuck truck to Cuddlesberg, Asstown. Choo choo.”

To his credit, Karkat only looks slightly murderous as you channel Thomas the Tank Engine with both your arms and legs outstretched in a caricature of an invitation to cuddle. “Are you even taking this seriously?”

You stretch your legs out wider and waggle your eyebrows. “Serious as a soccer mom on field day,” you assure. “Prepare yourself, Karkles, 'cause I'm feeling all matrimonial up in this place. Gonna strap my snuggle on and menopause you like you've never been menopaused before. I'm riding this emotional gala so hard that they're playing bingo up in the rafters.”

“One day, Strider, it's going to occur to your sorry excuse for a sentient thinkpan that this so-called wit of yours is actually not as hilarious as you think it is. It is, in fact, wholly unhilarious that it actually makes my back ache. A legitimate fucking chorus of human mythological angels will sing in harmony as you finally realise just how much of a super douche you are, and I will rejoice when finally the perpetuating throb in my spine subsides at your ascent into normality.”

“Wow, that's harsh, man,” you say, waving both of your hands to encourage him closer, “I'm trembling in my pink ruffled panties. That cut me deep, there's blood everywhere. Come cuddle and share all the feels to calm me down.”

Karkat looks away with pursed lips, his arms once again wrapped around himself, and you await his decision while growing increasingly uncomfortable with the masses of plump puppet buttocks pressing against you. You're reminded of all the butt traps Bro used to set for your back in your shitty apartment in Houston, only this was a jumble of puppet ass you had inexplicably agreed to be consumed by. Your legs are growing numb at the awkward position you put yourself in, but finally Karkat comes to a decision. He stomps towards you, kicks your legs together, and throws himself down beside you with all the enthusiasm of a cow in a butcher shop. 

“Now we're talking,” you announce, stretching your arm around him and tugging him close to you. The smuppet nose that's digging into your ass slips somewhere a little more central, and you shake your hips to relieve the invasive near-penetration. “Feelin' the love here. So, what's this all about, buddy? Guide me in the way of moralegience.”

“Moirallegiance,” corrects Karkat as he makes himself more comfortable in your cuddle puddle. It's the first time he's ever requested something like this, but you're anything if not open minded. He's smaller than you are, so he fits pretty snugly in your snuggin' huggin' arms, but it takes him a minute to find a position that is comfortable for the both of you. It's no skin off your nose. Save for the stiff phalluses that you're actually beginning to get oddly accustomed to (yes, even the one critically close to your lavish posterior,) you've been blissfully comfortable since you'd fallen into the pile. He fidgets around for a moment before settling his head against your collarbone, just beneath your chin, and wraps an arm loosely around your waist. His hair is coarser than you had initially thought it would be, not like you had spent night agonising over the texture of Karkat's alien hair, and his breath feels way too hot to be normal against your neck.

“MarlonBrandolegience,” you amend, making a completely ironic but unironic show of flexing your mad guns as you slip your free arm beneath your head. “What am I supposed to do? This is a feelings jam, right? Do I confess how I receive vicarious thrills from various anime dating simulations, or how the entire ensemble of _Fiddler on the Roof_ makes my heart do the 'no, don't touch me there' doki doki? Or am I supposed to sit here and weep for a few hours while you stroke my hair and tell me that mommy's gonna come home from war real soon? No, I know, we braid each other's hair and gossip about pretty boys, right?”

“If you would just for a single second stifle your staggering inability to shut your trap then maybe I can explain how this is supposed to work,” he gripes, near growling into your neck. You can feel his lip upturn into a sneer, and it bristles your skin in a way that you won't ever admit to be ticklish. “It's like you didn't even read those fucking books on troll romances I gave you.”

“I sort of read them, but I gotta admit that I was way more interested in the porny bits,” you concede. “Do your dicks really ride all up inside you when you're not doing the do, because I can't decide if that's a real convenient evolution, or just real fucking creepy.”

“Troll anatomy has literally got fuck all to do with this,” he continues. “If anything, you're the fucking creepy ones who keep their bulges out and flapping in the breeze like a flaccid windsock.” It was there that you notice that Karkat's boorishly loud voice has fallen into a reasonable decimal level, which, while certainly a load off your poor, poor eardrums, is actually pretty fucking creepy in itself. You peer down at him through your shades, but can't catch a glimpse of anything but the mop he calls hair. “Palemates don't just become the best of bros like you stupid humans seem to think. It's deeper than that. They keep each other grounded through happy chappy sessions of constant shoosh papping and feeling jams.” His fingers clench your God Tier pyjamas, and you figure that if they weren't made from the manes of unicorns or some majestic shit like that, then he would have accidentally ripped a hole in them with his pointy troll nails. “If you don't actually want all the duties of being my moirail, then you tell me now so we can stop, because though I seem to excel at it, I don't want to further humiliate myself by spilling everything to you only to realise that you don't have the slightest intention of partaking in this supposedly mutual exchange. It's weird enough that a fucking human is my moirail now, because I clearly suck absolute nook at shoosh papping other trolls into something akin to serenity, I don't also need the trauma of pushing you into something you don't even understand enough to put into actual practice, even though it is actually one of the most simplest notions in the whole of troll culture.” 

You think perhaps that this is what he means by 'spilling everything' and you absently trace your fingers up and down his back. “Nah, man, I'm good for this,” you say. “I just need a minute to wrap my fragile human mind around the whole deal. Gotta ease myself into it. Us humans don't usually go around sharing their most intimate emotions, you know.” 

“That's because you humans are basically predisposed to judge each other over every little thing.”

“Says you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Moirails are there not to judge each other.”

You're both simultaneously uncomfortable at this new situation and the most relaxed you've been since stepping on the meteor, so you allow yourself to get sucked a little deeper into the surrounding asses. Karkat nuzzles your neck, though you're unsure if he's aware of it. “So then hit me with your best shot,” you prompt, opting to roll with it. “Let it all out, little man. Tell me what's on your thinkpan. Give me all of the emotion juice you want to secrete. No, wait, that sounds gross. Ignore that. You go first. Let me get a feel for this emotional shindig and then I'll tango my way to centre stage.” 

“It doesn't work like that,” he growls into your skin. “It's not a thing you up and decide to take turns over, it's not a fucking queue. It's a mutual thing that we do together, a natural process for troll palemates.” You can literally feel his frown against your neck before he tries to roll away. “This was a bad idea. I didn't know how I could even conceive the notion of trying to do normal pale stuff with the human juggernaut of douchery. Forget it. Forget everything. Forget I exist. I'll just sink into this pile of colourful but strangely irresistible rumps and think about all the many, many, many bad ideas I've had in my entire pitiful, bulge licking existence.”

Experience reminds you how impossible it is to escape the plush paws of a smuppet once you've been submerged in a tomb of them, and as you watch Karkat struggle to liberate himself from their near adhesive extremities, you can finally relate to the impassive delight Bro used to derive from drowning you in them. (He wouldn't ever laugh at your misfortune as you totally ironically and internally screamed into the asses that showered down upon you like an R-rated internet video, but he'd lean against the nearest surface, cross his arms over his chest and offer the coolest fucking thumbs up you would ever see.) 

Karkat has somehow rolled on his face during your musings about Bro and has trapped your arm beneath his squirming stomach. “What the actual fuck!” he seethes into the void of smuppets, slowly sinking deeper and deeper until your arm is being bent awkwardly. “Where is up? Dave! What the fuck, get me out of this fucking rockslide of unholy rectal crevices! What do you humans find so appealing about these things?”

Your shoulder clicks at the strain it takes to hoist him from the ingesting puppets – the boy be heavier than he looks, yo - and he melodramatically gasps for air once you've saved him. Maybe the smallest flicker of a smile graces your totally cool lips, but he wouldn't know being too busy trying to wriggle out of your grip. You've locked your arm tight around his waist, because now that he's initiated cuddlemode, there isn't a chance in hell that you're going to let him chicken out of it. You're Dave fucking Strider, you're in the zone, and it there's one thing you're good at, it's finishing a schnuggle that's already been started, no matter how uncool it may appear should Rose suddenly decide to take a stroll nearby. He struggles in your arms, all loose-limbed and claws, but he's not putting any effort in a second escape attempt, as if he rightly fears the gaping ass-maw beneath you. 

“Dude, I've already twerked my way into your oh so happy little heart, so I think I'm down for figuring out how to Mahna-Mahna with you.” You pull him closer and lock him in place with your legs, wrapping him up into a alien-human hybrid burrito, and he straggles less than wildly against you all the while grumbling creative curses into your succulent man titties and lightly papping against your obviously bulging biceps. “Let's do this, bro. I'm down for this feelings jamboree. We've already moseyed on down to Asstown, but you jumped off before we could book the two-star motel up in Cuddlesville. Was gonna treat you right and take you to down to Snuggle-Bunny Bistro for breakfast in the morning.” 

“It was Cuddles _berg_ , you ingrate. If you're going to make this weird, then at least be consistent.”

He falls grudgingly silent and limp, and you take this as a neon lit sign that he's finally accepted his one way trip to your budding education on moirallegiance. You blow out a self-satisfied sigh as you loosen your hold, pretty damn sure he's not about to try and escape into the void that is puppet ass again, and decide to keep your talkbox shut as you train yourself around to the idea of getting all intimately emotional and shit. Before you had even been potty trained, Bro had drilled the Strider stoicism into your human thinkpan, so getting all sentimental isn't exactly your forte, and you can't imagine it being Karkat's either. (Okay, so maybe Bro's baby raising priorities weren't all that logical, but goddammit did you look super cool pissing in your drawers instead of the potty.)

The air around you hums with the dull, eternal whoosh of the meteor, but you have long managed to tune that out beneath your cool solo rap battles and one-man dance parties that, despite Rose's insistence, are not sad, and haven't turned you into some lonely raver – duh, because as soon as you and Karkat came to be the best of bros brodom has ever seen, your one-man dance parties turned two, and trying to teach a troll to flamenco to dance music, while ironic and hilarious, is surprisingly painful when you yourself don't actually know how to flamenco. Two-man quickly became three when you found out where the Mayor had been scuttling off to, and the flamenco turned into more of a totally cool, totally not lame rendition of Ring a Ring o' fucking Roses. 

Three years of erecting Can Town, building an economy, basically playing God among the obviously real townsfolk (how can you be playing if you literally are a god?) and celebrating your town's success with joined hands in a skipping circle – totally cool, really – has made you immune to any awkwardness that might have crept up on you both as you cuddle in oddly soothing silence. A part you wants to solicit conversation, because you have come to the conclusion that being a monorail was all about feelings and shit, letting out all the psychosis trundling around in your respective heads and maybe helping each other cope or something? You decide to keep quiet instead, figuring that it's just as good being comfortable and silent as you're both swallowed up by alchemized remnants of your childhood.

Finally, he edges his arms around you in a frankly pitiful attempt to be sneaky that was, okay, also kind of adorable – the kind of adorable that essentially embodied the cute as fuck Mayor, and that in itself was a hell of an achievement. Nobody can reach the levels that the Mayor has set, but Karkat is giving it a good go with the way he's grumbling into your chest at a decimal level that you've always thought to be impossible for him. He's like an angry cat (ha, Karkitty, you just got it – you're hilarious) that wants to pretend you're annoying him, but craves the attention, so you ironically oblige. You maybe mutter a 'there there kitty' under your breath as you reach up to tousle your fingers in his coarser-than-it-looks hair until you brush against the nubbiest nub of one of his nubby nub horns, and then the strangest thing happens. 

“Bro,” you marvel, “you're fucking purring.” He is a fucking cat and you are a genius. (Karkitty, ha ha ha oh my god you are so fucking hilarious lmao lol.)

He looks up at you with a upturned sneer, but he looks weirdly content for someone so permanently offended. “What putridity are you spewing this time?” he says, but his voice is still impossibly low (and oh my god, if he's known how to use an indoor voice all this time then why is he always shouting?) You don't know how to explain it without a cool guy demonstration, so you clear your throat obnoxiously and you attempt to mimic the sound of a cat obviously born from endless hours of streaming and scrolling on the internet. It sounds like you're gargling your spit with a throat infection. “That's terrible, what are you doing, stop that.”

“Purring,” you say, because duh. 

“They're sub-vocals, dumbfuck,” he yawns, and in the position you're in, you can see each and every pointed tooth stuffed in his mouth. A part of you wants to grab his tongue and pull (why? You don't fucking know, shut up) but you stifle the urge and shrug a shoulder. “Wow, you humans really are underdeveloped pieces of shit. You don't even have sub-vocals. That's some mighty fine evolution you've got there. Well done, bravo. Ten out of fucking ten.” He drops his head against your chest again and continues his purring, and you don't have the heart to tell him that his mini-rant has little to no effect when he looks and sounds like _a tired little kitten oh my fucking god_. 

You blow a sharp snort of air from your nose in what could have been a laugh, and you close your eyes, because this is the furthest you've gotten to sharing your feelings since you first snuggled up together on the porn pile. The thought tires you, and you shimmy further down into the smuppets with Karkat still sprawled on you like an alien electric blanket.

“Yo, Karkittty.” You are so fucking funny, you wonder how nobody else on the meteor has noticed yet. “This moirail thing. Does it include taking awesome bro naps together?”

Karkat yawns again, and he nods languidly.

“Cool.” Maybe next time you can try the sharing thing.


End file.
